Personal Guardian Demon
by TheCrownedLioness
Summary: After C.C. is killed in a car accident, she is charged for her "crimes" on Earth and allowed to choose her sentence: either be damned for all eternity, or choose one person she has wronged in the course of her life to watch over and work off her sins. Rated T for certain themes which might require it.
1. The Accident

**Hi, everyone! Well, I wasn't originally intending to publish this story, but my best friend CCNilesBabcock liked it so much I decided to gift it to her for her birthday. So here, on that most important day, is the first chapter. Happy birthday, my friend and nearest and dearest writing buddy. You deserve nothing but the best, and I hope that is what I have done and will continue to do for this particularly angst-filled scenario.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, or any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

C.C. was pissed off.

So far that day, _everything_ had been setting her up so that she would be late for work. She couldn't _believe_ she'd overslept that morning! Her stupid alarm hadn't gone off at the correct time, and then as she'd stumbled around trying to clear her head, eat and drink something, and get dressed for a day at the theatre, she'd almost left the penthouse without feeding Chester. So, that meant she'd had to go back, feed the damn dog, and then leave _all_ over again!

She was gonna dump him on Nanny Fine one of these days. They deserved each other.

To top it all off, her seatbelt in her car seemed to be broken. It just kept undoing itself at any given opportunity. It was too late to call a cab, she'd just have to hold it as best she could until she got to the mansion, and then she'd get someone to take a look at it after work.

They had too much to get done that day for anything else, and she couldn't afford to be more late than she already was.

The traffic was proving to be a nightmare, too. Had _everyone_ overslept that morning? She could have sworn everyone was going at least _ten_ times over the speed limit, and her seatbelt had decided to undo itself again, forcing her to look down to try and mend it for the twelfth time in the space of the last five minutes…

That was why she didn't see it coming until the very last moment.

She was taking her turn at the lights, when a car in the lane parallel to hers swerved out of control.

The last thing she remembered was it careening towards the hood of her own car, and slamming the breaks on.

She didn't see the truck behind her having to break as well.

She had already closed her eyes and braced herself.

* * *

Silence.

And then she was opening her eyes to see the chaos. She was standing, despite not remembering getting out of the car. She supposed she must have been too stunned; her eyes were still a little blurry. It took a moment, but eventually her vision cleared perfectly, and she could hear everything again – the sirens, people yelling to one another. Yelling about needing a doctor, or medical attention, anything. She was stood a bit away from the twisted, almost unrecognisable wreckage, and all the screaming was coming from nearer the crash site, where somebody she couldn't see apart from their golden hair was being pulled from where they'd gone through the windshield of their car.

Their wreck of a car. It was almost unrecognisable as one from the accident.

She seemed fine, though, despite the obvious consequences of the carnage going on around her. She patted herself all over, checking just in case. She'd lost her purse during whatever had happened, but she'd find it again. She must've left it behind, in her BMW…

But first, check in with a police officer, or someone in charge of the scene. They'd get all the details of the car and anything that could be salvaged would be returned to her, obviously. And who knew? She might need attention and she just didn't know it yet. She wasn't in any pain, but that _was_ a huge crash...

She marched herself right in the direction of the nearest police officer, who appeared to be taking control of the scene. He was busy talking to somebody else, but surely a victim of the crash demanded priority!

"Hey, officer, what's going on here?"

Nothing. The policeman kept right-on talking, like she wasn't even there. Well, he might have been addressing someone else, but the least he could do was stop and _tell_ her so! Neither him nor the guy in front of him even _looked_ in her direction as she came over!

"Hey! Hill Street Blues! I'm talking to you!" she snapped her fingers by his ear. "Can't you hear me?!"

Still nothing. C.C. felt her ire coming back, full-force. From her alarm, to her dog, to the stupid seatbelt, to the traffic and now to the crash, she'd decided that this was all more than enough for one morning.

"Are you _deaf,_ pal? I am _speaking_ to you!"

She punctuated her words by swinging her hand at him, hoping that her palm would make satisfying contact with his cheek.

It didn't. She watched in horror as her hand passed straight through his head and out the other side.

With a startled yelp, she recoiled, taking back her hand and examining it, " _Huh_ … _?!_ "

Her mind was racing. But, despite her dread and her panic, she couldn't feel her heart doing the same thing.

The crash.

The stupid seatbelt.

The ambulance people pulling a lifeless blonde from the wreckage and placing them on a stretcher.

Her eyes widened. _It couldn't be possible…_

She was stood there so long, watching it all unfold, that she had to jog to catch up with the EMTs, who were about to load the stretcher into the ambulance. She didn't want to look down at the body; she couldn't bear it. She _refused_ to bear it!

"No, hey! You've got the wrong person, I'm right here! I'm right here! I can't be…I'm _not!_ I'm talking to you right now; can't you see me? Or hear me? Say something if you can!" she shouted to them as they moved towards the ambulance.

Nothing. From them, or from anyone. No matter who she turned to, begging and pleading for someone to speak to her, none of them could hear her.

No one could hear her…no one could see her... _what was going to happen now?_

"But…what about my job? What about my penthouse?" she cried out, in case someone out there was listening. She watched helplessly as they began to load the stretcher into the ambulance. "The Sheffields! What about them? What about _Niles?!_ "

Sensing that they were about to leave, she leapt into the back, finding minimal comfort in the fact that she could interact with _this_ surface, at least. The doors closed behind her, and the vehicle took off.

And so did she, insisting that the EMTs do everything they possibly could. They worked on her as much as was probably possible in the back of a moving ambulance, with limited resources.

Everything, from adrenaline to defibrillators.

She watched their every move, desperation turning to despair.

"Oh God, this can't be happening…! Please! Someone, _do_ something! You're medical professionals, damn it, you must be able to do _something!_ " her screams were terrible, even to her own ears. She clawed uselessly at them as they began to zip up the body on the stretcher, lamenting their inability to save the poor soul in front of them. "Oh, no. No, no, no! Don't zip it up! I'm not done! Please! I'm not _ready!_ "

That didn't seem to make much of a difference. The ambulance kept carrying on its journey, and C.C. slumped next to the medical professionals, who were probably kicking themselves for not being able to do more.

They wouldn't have been the _only_ ones kicking if it were physically possible.


	2. The Phone Call

**Hey, everyone. Sorry it's been a while, I'm coming close to the end of my year abroad and I've been having to finish projects and assignments. But now I only have one project left, and I found some time to post this next chapter. I will also be finishing The Lady's Gentleman entirely as soon as possible, but of course university will have to come first. And then I'll be going back to the UK and having a nice long summer, so you can definitely expect more writing then!**

 **Enjoy the chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, any of its characters or settings, etc.**

* * *

Things were moving slowly at the Sheffield house that morning.

At least, that's what Niles thought.

Every morning seemed slow to him before Miss Babcock arrived. He had very few other forms of entertainment that could be used when other people were around, and he was supposed to be working.

Her absence was causing a delay in nearly everyone's routine. Although, he supposed that could also be something to do with the footage of the accident that had happened only a few streets away, and was causing holdups all around the nearby roads, on the television. It was hard to go out anywhere with so many cars blocking the way, _and_ when you were too busy being fascinated by the pictures on the screen, such as Mrs Sheffield was.

Mr Sheffield had been trying his hardest to get the day's work up and running, but it seemed to be proving difficult for him. Everyone in the house knew how much of it was actually handled by Miss Babcock, even if they didn't say so, and not having her around to read over contracts and go to the theatre to get the actors and the crew actually _doing_ something that day was causing the dark-haired producer no small amount of stress.

He'd been pacing in and out of the office for the last twenty minutes, a couple of files clutched in one hand which he would occasionally wave or shake in his frustration, and had just come out again.

"These contracts need to be reviewed, signed and ready to go to London in the morning," he grumbled. "They _must_ have redirected the traffic by _now_ ; where the devil is C.C.?"

"None of us know, sir," Niles felt his answer was rather lame, but it was the truth.

If he was being honest, it was eating him up inside that he couldn't say for sure where the blonde producer was.

Fran craned her neck over to frown at them both, "Well, I hope that wherever she is, she's bein' careful! I heard on the news earlier that there were reports of a fatality."

Something about that word unsettled Niles a great deal.

It seemed to unnerve the Sheffields, too. All three adults looked around at each other in the silence that followed Fran's retelling of the news.

 _Could it be that she was…?_

No. He didn't want to think about it. She was probably just stuck in the traffic, that was all. There'd be a ringing coming from the doorbell at any moment, and she'd come sweeping in the way she usually did, grousing loudly to anyone who would listen about how terrible the traffic was out there and how she'd been stuck for hours, all because some jackass couldn't be bothered to check the lights properly, or words to that effect. And he'd be able to throw some of the zingers that he'd had in store for her that morning, maybe tossing in a few new ones to reflect her sullen mood.

 _"_ _Did someone wake up on the wrong side of their cage this morning?"_

 _"_ _How much traffic could there possibly_ be _for you? Broomsticks are hard to come by these days and air travel over the house is so light…"_

He was distracted from his mental practice run by the shrill ringing of the phone, and he picked up his feet to answer it. With any luck, it was Babcock, calling to say she was running late – he'd be able to try a few of the phrases he'd been perfecting in his head. And then he'd have more ready for when she arrived, whenever that was.

It wasn't Miss Babcock on the phone, and the disappointment soon ran into dread as the person on the other end introduced themselves, and asked for Mr Sheffield.

He held out the phone, barely holding onto it because he was sure the blood had stopped in his veins, and swallowed before somehow managing to speak.

"Phone call for you, sir…" he said, no emotion present in his voice because too many were jarring for first position at once and if he let any of them out, he thought he might accidentally scream. "From Lenox Hill Hospital."

* * *

She didn't know how long she'd been in there – they'd put the body on a table in a room, complete with sheet covering it, a while back and no one had been around since.

She'd settled herself on the floor, staring at the wall opposite and wondering how everything had managed to come to this, when the door opened and she finally heard footsteps and voices.

"My apologies for calling you on such short notice, Mr Sheffield. We tried other family members, but no one seems to be in town and you were listed as an alternate contact in case of an emergency."

That was right. She'd put Maxwell's name down quite a while back – at least a few years. And of _course_ , it was around now that she was the only member of her family in the city.

Well, _this_ might bring them back…

She slowly got back to her feet as both men approached the table. The doctor peeled back the sheet covering the body, allowing Maxwell to take a look.

A myriad of emotions (shock, horror and nausea seeming to be the main ones) crossed his face, which he wiped with one hand as he nodded and turned away, "Yes…yes, that's her…"

C.C. groaned in frustration, passing around the table to stand by him, "No it _isn't_ , Maxwell! I'm right _here!_ "

She didn't know why she bothered. Anyone who'd ever met her could see that it was her, even with the injuries marring her face. And it wasn't like he could see her, stood there waving a hand in front of his face, either. Not that he'd been the most observant of people _before_ this had happened.

The doctor lowered the sheet again, and offered his condolences to the British producer, who waved a hand back vaguely.

"Thank you, Doctor, but…I'm sorry, words just aren't enough right now. I should be getting back…my family will need to hear the news as well."

Doctor and producer shook hands and said their goodbyes, and as Maxwell turned to leave, C.C. left the doctor to whatever he was doing and followed Maxwell outside.

He didn't get very far. He had walked just a little way along the corridor before he collapsed against a wall, shuddering out a pained breath as he wiped a hand over his eyes. A few tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he didn't wipe them away immediately.

The blonde watched him with a deep frown.

It wasn't the kind of weeping and imploring the heavens that she once would've hoped for, if she'd ever thought about a scenario like this. She'd realised a long time ago that she wouldn't have him the way she wanted – if she ever _really had_ wanted him that way, considering she wasn't fully convinced of that.

No, this was the reaction to losing a near and dear friend. And she wasn't going to ask for more. Some days, she'd found him so oblivious she wondered if he'd even notice if something like this happened, so she appreciated that much in the least.

After taking a few more breaths, Maxwell reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialled in a number, and held it up to his ear, still blinking away tears.

"Hello, Niles? Ca-…can you get Fran on the phone for me, Old Man?" he was trying hard not to choke on his words.

Something stirred inside her at the mention of the butler's name. How was he going to react when he was told? She had to find out. She'd go to the mansion when Maxwell left, and see for herself.

"Hello, Fran?" Maxwell steeled himself for the news, wiping his eyes again. "It's…it's her. Gather the children, we'll have to tell them…I love you too, sweetheart. I'll be home soon…"

Saying a quick goodbye, he hung up, shook himself off as best he could, and continued his way down the corridor. C.C. made to follow, but the closer they got to the exit, the more she felt something pulling her back, like an invisible force slowing her down and stopping her from leaving. By the time Maxwell had reached the end of the hallway, C.C. was more than several feet behind him, and unable to move any further, no matter how hard she struggled.

Eventually, she gave up trying to fight against it. She supposed something was insisting that she had to stay with her body. So she watched helplessly as her business associate – well, now _former_ business associate – was allowed to step into the elevator and leave the floor, free as anyone else, while she stayed where she was.

Sighing, she turned, and walked back to the room, slipping through the wall as a shortcut.

She figured she might as well get used to doing that.


	3. The Funeral

**Hey, everyone. I finally got around to finishing this next chapter! I'm hoping I'll be able to do even more in the next few weeks (before my best friend CCNilesBabcock arrives from Argentina, for 10 days! I can't help it, I'm excited and I tell everyone), so keep your eyes open.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter. I promise, it will be the last one which is darker in tone for a while; the next few will be lighter, even if they will have dark elements due to the subject matter.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The Nanny, or any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

The look on Mr Sheffield's face as he walked in the door said it all. The talk they then had to give to the children just seemed to rub it in. Not that it really had to. He was barely present for it, in truth – his body was there, but everything else was floating on the edge of reality.

His soul was clinging to him, but he wished beyond all hope and reason that it would just let go. Everything _else_ had left him, torn away either by the confirming words of his employer or by a stupid, damnable car accident only hours before. It had taken light, colour, warmth…it was all gone.

It wasn't coming back, either. It would _never_ come back.

 _She_ was never coming back. No more cheerful cry of "Hello, hello!" as she came to work every morning, no more golden hair or shining sapphire eyes, no more zingers shot back and forth like they were exchanging pleasantries…

He'd never actually gotten to tell her anything – what he really felt about her, where he thought they should _really_ be, what he _really_ wanted for them both…he'd wasted his time, and now he had nothing left. He was truly going to be alone for the rest of his life, because even if they'd been enemies when she was…even if they'd been enemies _before_ , at least she was there.

But now she wasn't. And the only thing he could just about feel, other than the gaping emptiness, was a gentle shaking of his arm as Fran tried to catch his attention, the rest of the family having left without him noticing.

He couldn't imagine anything _actually_ being important anymore, but he supposed he should listen to her. He'd managed to stay throughout Maxwell's explanation to the children, so he could stomach a few more seconds.

"You feelin' okay, Scarecrow?" she asked gently, still some tears in her eyes. "I know that you and Miss Babcock had your own way of dealin' with each other that the rest of us weren't a part of, and I want you ta know that...we're here for you, if you ever need to talk about it…"

He wondered if perhaps Fran had guessed what he felt, and had simply kept it to _her_ self until he'd figured it out for _him_ self.

What a _fine_ time to work out just how much he loved her, he thought bitterly.

A sharp pain took this moment to introduce itself, right in the middle of the void in his chest as it all sunk in, and he knew he didn't want to talk about it. Talking meant bringing on more of that pain, and he couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear the feeling of a heart being shattered like glass, of loneliness crushing him like an avalanche, of the distinct feeling of something _vital_ missing from his world.

He especially couldn't bear the looks of pity on the faces of people who would eventually move on, and be happy again.

He had to get away from there. He couldn't talk – not then. Probably not ever.

He shook his head, and shrugged away from Fran's hand to turn wordlessly towards the stairs, ignoring her calls for him to wait, or come back, or something along those lines.

No one would bother him in his room. In there, he could _not breathe_ in private, and no one would try to ask him if he was alright when it was clear that he wasn't in the first place.

Nothing was going to be alright from then on. How _could_ it be? She was the one who _made_ everything right. His balance, the yin to his yang, his reason for…well, _being_. She gave him purpose beyond his work, and now…

He slammed his door behind him, and slumped on the floor against it, not even able to summon the energy to get him to his own bed.

The bed he'd wake up in by himself, every day for the rest of his life, however long _that_ was. And every day, he'd open his eyes to a drab, colourless world, and remember that this wasn't some horrible nightmare.

This was his reality now.

He leaned his head back against the door, and in the privacy of his own room with no prying, pitying eyes, he did the next thing he knew he'd do from now on whenever he woke up.

He began to weep.

* * *

She had to stay with her body through all the formalities; eventually her family had come to claim her, and to present her to an undertaker. It was… _odd_ , really – she'd never seen her father cry so much, or her brother.

And she'd never wanted to reach out to them both quite as much as she had when they'd first come to see her. She wanted to talk to them, to hold them, to let them know that she was still there. But the result was just the same as when she'd tried to talk to Maxwell, or to the paramedics, or to anyone else, for that matter.

So, she gave up trying. If it wasn't going to work, then there wasn't any point. She focused her efforts on distracting herself, by learning what she could do in that state. It seemed to be limited to passing through things, for the most part. Some solid surfaces supported her, as was evident in that she had managed to hitch a ride to her own funeral in the back of the hearse, next to the coffin (she was sure someone out there in the universe was cracking up at _that!_ ), but for the most part, she just simply passed through them.

The crowd of mourners was larger than she thought it would be, and that made her want to burst into fresh tears, too. She'd never imagined so many people coming to see her off, whenever she'd thought about how this would go. She'd thought the place would be empty, none of her relatives or the people she'd called her friends following her coffin into the building – not like they were actually doing right then, some of them trying to hide their tears as she was settled down by the casket bearers.

The only people she'd really imagined there who were there were the Sheffields. Well, at least she'd imagined _Maxwell_ there. She had never really thought that Nanny Fine would want to come, but there she was, sobbing into a handkerchief in a manner that was actually tearing C.C. up inside, so she had to look away. She cast her eyes across the bench, scanning. Even the kids had come, and they were whispering amongst themselves, occasionally looking over their shoulders in apparent concern.

It didn't take her long to spot who they were looking at, either.

Niles.

She saw him, sat at the back, away from the Sheffields. Not like they were better than him or anything like that. More like he needed space, or needed to be alone. He was certainly giving off the air of a man who didn't want to be talked to, sat there by himself in his best black suit and tie. The dark material contrasted greatly with the oatmeal-coloured pallor of his expressionless face. The man looked completely and utterly dead, and of course she had to approach him to get a better look at this abnormally open display of grief. Being there but _not_ being there _did_ seem to have its advantages, in that regard. She could take a look without any consequences whatsoever, and she leaned her elbow on the arm of the pew, next to his shoulder.

She frowned, studying his countenance. There wasn't a single spark of life coming from his usually bright eyes. No cheerfulness. No warmth. Just a shell that looked like someone she knew.

"Tch, _you_ look like the one who should be in a coffin here, Hazel."

The zinger was easier than analysing the fact that he was there, mourning her like that. Not that there was much of a point in being worried about that kind of thing anymore, as the priest came forward to start the service.

She wasn't listening to what was being said, not even as the man handed over to her brother so he could give her eulogy.

Whatever Noel had written to say was probably beautiful, but she heard none of it. The hymns and the read prayers, the words about her life and her achievements…none of it reached her ears. The thought kept creeping up on her again, distracting her to the point of bothering, and eventually she just couldn't help herself.

Even if he couldn't hear her, and would never hear her again, she had to say _something_ out loud.

"I…never thought I'd see you like this, you know," she said casually, unable to look at him as the words left her mouth, so she stared at the floor instead. "Not for _me_ , anyway…"

The priest was talking again. But he sounded muffled, and yet also like his words were echoing at the same time. It was strange.

But the feeling of needing to talk was still not going away, and she turned back to Niles again.

He couldn't hear; she could ask this, even if she'd never get an answer.

"Why _are_ you like this, for me?"

He continued to stare straight ahead, and the priest's muffled-echoed words started to reach her ears, growing louder and louder.

"We commend our sister Chastity-Claire…"

She turned to look, but immediately had to cover her eyes – a dazzling light had appeared in the room, right above where the coffin was! And with it came some kind of _force_ , pulling her closer to it…

It was a strong pull, too, just like the force that had kept her with her body. It was almost dragging her along the floor!

"Hey, wait a minute!" she cried, struggling. "I'm not done yet!"

She tried to fight against it – now she'd worked up the courage to ask him that question, she had so much more to say! She _had_ to stay, just a few minutes longer…!

"Give me a _few_ more moments, please!" she couldn't believe she was begging something she couldn't even see, but that's what she was doing. "I'm never gonna see him again, let me have this!"

But whatever was pulling her didn't care. It seemed to think she had somewhere else to be, and it pulled harder, until she was being hauled away from him at speed.

"Oh, come on, _please!_ " she screamed, reaching out towards the man who was now looking bleaker than ever and so very far away. The light was enveloping her, separating her from him, and from the other mourners too. " _Niles!_ "

But it was too late.

In a blinding white flash, it was all gone.


	4. The Choice

**Hey, everyone! Well, this next chapter is both ready and longer than previous ones, so I hope you enjoy that. It's getting to the point now where the chapters aren't so angst-filled; I wouldn't necessarily say this one is funny (there is one element in this which is particularly dark), but it definitely isn't as sad as the chapters I've written so far.**

 **I decided to upload today in order to celebrate that the day after tomorrow is the day CCNilesBabcock arrives in the UK to stay with me. I'm sorry if you follow me on Tumblr, you're probably sick of hearing that by now. But I'm so excited I can't help myself!**

 **Anyway, please enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

C.C. opened her eyes.

She had to blink a couple of times when she did; the light coming from the window in the corridor she found herself in was bright, to the point where she couldn't seem to see anything else if she looked in that direction. At least it seemed as though there was nothing on the other side of the glass, apart from bright sunlight and a hint of blue sky.

She had to turn away from it before spots appeared in her vision, and began to study the rest of the room instead, standing from her seat to take a better look around. It looked like a waiting area, really; it wasn't much more than a fancy-looking corridor with a few comfortable chairs lined up along the cream-coloured wall, some paintings hung here and there for decoration to break up the sight of the wallpaper. There was also a white painted wooden door in the wall in front of her, but it was closed.

It all kind of reminded her of the Sheffield mansion; the architectural style, the furniture…

She dropped her eyes to the carpet. It made her feel…sad, to think about that place again. Knowing she'd never see it again, or the people inside…

She'd spent the real best years of her life with them, if she was being honest. And even if she hadn't quite known how to fit in with them, or be much more than her usual ornery self, they had accepted her as she was, and didn't try to change her. Most of the time. But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if maybe they should have tried a little harder, a little more often.

She'd miss them.

But she shook herself out of it. She couldn't think about that now. Not if she was moving on to…wherever the next place for her was.

It was odd; she truly didn't know where that was going to be. She'd never really given it much consideration.

And it wasn't like she could look around and make a stab in the dark based on anyone there. The waiting room was empty, apart from her. That was a surprise, considering the fact that she was certain she wouldn't have been the _only_ person in the _entire_ world having a funeral today.

So where _was_ everybody?

As if on cue, the door opened and her head snapped up to meet the gaze of the man who had opened it.

"Ah, Chastity-Claire Babcock," he smiled, his voice level and pleasant as he opened the door fully to allow her to step inside. "Everything's just about ready for you now. Please, come in."

Without a word, despite all the doubts she had, C.C. did so. As she stepped over the threshold, the man shut the door behind her. She stared around at the office she now found herself in – more furnished than the waiting area, with a large desk and some chairs at one end, but still the same style. There were also two doors in the wall behind the desk, one either side, separated by bookshelves.

The man gestured towards the chair in front of the desk, "Please, have a seat."

She sat, and the man rounded the desk to take the seat behind it soon after.

"I must apologise for the wait," he began, leaning forward so his arms rested on the edge of the desk. "I'm assuming you have a number of questions about all of this."

Yeah, _no kidding_ she had questions! Perhaps they could start with where she was, and why there wasn't anybody outside. Also, maybe why the man that was clearly supposed to talk her through all of this looked more like a public accountant, there in his ordinary day suit, than any kind of divine messenger.

"Divine, no," he pulled away from the desk to lean down and take something from a drawer. "But I _am_ a messenger. Well I'm actually more of a gatekeeper these days. But for _you_ , I am also a messenger. To make things easier, you can just call me Peter."

Well, giving him a name certainly made things easie…wait a minute.

Had he just _read her mind?_

"We have more important things to be discussing than that, Miss Babcock," Peter found what he was looking for in the drawer and brought it up onto the desk – a file, not unlike the ones she would read when she was working, if more than a little bit thicker.

"Well…what should we be discussing?" she asked, trying to not make it obvious that she was eyeing the folder, and sort of regretting the fact that she'd called him a public accountant when it was obvious that he was here to tell her something important.

Peter tapped where her eye had been falling on the file, "This. The reason you're here with me now. It's a record of your time on Earth. Every action made, every word spoken, everything you have ever done or thought about doing."

Well, no wonder the thing looked heavy. C.C. sat back in her seat some as Peter opened the file, starting to scan it quickly.

"Let's see…" he mused aloud, occasionally looking up at C.C.. "Blinded to the plight of those less fortunate by a luxurious upbringing; more often than not self-serving to the point of cutting off all others who might interfere, even if it is for the greater good; often succumbs to great bouts of rage, due to own frustrations and inability or reluctance to get along with others."

Peter raised his eyes to her again, and C.C. felt something drop out of the bottom of her stomach as he indicated with his head towards the door nearest the window, from which only bright white light could be seen.

"I'm sorry to say that this pattern of behaviour doesn't exactly qualify you for life upstairs…"

Life upstairs? _What_ life? She wasn't _alive_ , and she could venture a pretty firm guess that _Peter_ wasn't, either.

She opened her mouth to protest, but found that her mind kept on figuring everything out as she went, "What… _upstairs_ …"

It hit her what he meant right then and there, and it was like a sharp slap across the face.

He meant _Heaven._

And seeing as she was already in limbo, with no purgatory apparently offered, there was only _one_ place left to go if she didn't qualify…

C.C. quickly glanced across the room to the door Peter hadn't mentioned. She couldn't look away, even though it made her feel sick, thinking about what could be waiting for her on the other side. It made her want to get up and run, but where would she go? The only thing the other side of the door was the waiting room, and she didn't know where the windows went, or if they even opened…

Even then, she'd probably be found. Or doomed to walk the Earth forever, wandering aimlessly…

She felt herself dig her feet into the floor, but she didn't know if it was so she could make a bolt for the waiting room, or so she could stop herself from being dragged downstairs.

She'd fight tooth and nail if she had to, if it was the second one.

"Please don't be afraid, Miss Babcock," Peter sounded straightforward enough, like there was absolutely no reason to worry, but how could there not be? "I know that none of this sounds good, but you were brought here, on this day, by yourself, for something of an unusual reason."

"Huh?" C.C.'s eyes snapped back to him. "What do you mean? What's there to _not_ be afraid of, here?"

"You aren't going through either of those doors behind me," Peter closed her file and straightened up. "Someone up here has been pleading your case, and thinks you should have a choice over what happens before a real decision is made over your… _behaviour_ on Earth."

Something in her relaxed a little at that, but another part was curious. She was going to get to make the decision over what happened? What did _that_ mean? More importantly, who'd been the one to help her out? She couldn't possibly think of anyone she knew who'd be willing to do that, particularly people who had already moved on…

A relative, perhaps? No, they'd all tell her to get out of her own mess herself…the ones who would _be_ upstairs, anyway...

"That's not really the part to be focusing on here, Miss Babcock," he told her. "The important part is that _you_ have a decision to make."

C.C. knew he had a point; if it meant the difference between eternal suffering and literally anything else, she supposed she'd better listen.

"That might be a good idea, yes," Peter commented on her thought.

C.C. frowned, gesturing back and forth between him and her, "Would you mind not reading my mind while I do this? I'm not liking the imbalance."

Peter looked a little astounded for a second, but then held his hands up in a kind of mock surrender, "Oh...! My apologies. I'm so used to doing it that I sometimes forget about it. Please continue, I won't listen in again."

C.C. felt like she could trust him enough to hold him to that statement, but something in her felt bad about asking him to stop, anyway. He did seem to be doing his best to help her through this, after all. It was actually rather reminiscent of preparing for a court case. Maybe he was more like a lawyer in that suit, rather than an accountant…

But never mind that. If he was going to help her out of this, she had to find out how.

She swallowed before asking, "Well, then, what are my options? With this whole decision-making thing, I mean."

"There's the most straightforward route, which is to just take the punishment and go through the door," Peter shrugged lightly. "Some people _do_ choose to do that. There's something about being here, I think, that makes people realise their own guilt. They figure they deserve their punishment, and they decide to just take it."

Well, that was _other_ people. Sense of guilt or not, she already knew she'd take whatever else Peter offered – it didn't matter what it was! Anything to avoid whatever was waiting for her behind the door that was still making her nauseous to even look at…

"The other option is more difficult, but it is very rewarding," Peter continued, apparently not currently aware of her dread. "It's also the _other_ reason some people choose to simply take their punishment, however."

C.C. blinked at him, focusing her attention, "Really? How bad can it be? What would I have to do?"

"You pick one person that you wronged when you were alive, and you watch over them until the end of their natural life, protecting them from potentially fatal harm. If their life comes to its natural end at the proper and correct time, you will be welcome upstairs," he explained. He then sighed, a hint of something like exasperation or disappointment showing through. "Some people apparently can't stand others so much, they'd rather just take the alternative."

The blonde woman thought it over. It didn't sound too hard, honestly.

If anything, the concept sounded kind of familiar.

"So…I'd be like some kind of…guardian angel?"

"Yes, exactly!" Peter beamed, but then he pointed a finger at her as if to punctuate his point. "But you have to have known the person well, and wronged them deeply in some fashion. You can't just pick someone you once accidentally cut off on the freeway, or anything like that."

She pursed her lips as she thought this over. It _still_ didn't sound too bad (at least in comparison to the _other choice_ ), and once she'd picked someone, it would probably be even easier.

She nodded, "Okay. Is there a list, or do I think of one off the top of my head?"

Peter gave a wry smile, and dove back into the drawer, "Oh, there's a _list_ alright…"

He brought out a huge file – much bigger and much fuller than the one detailing everything in her life. It was almost like a book, with how many pages it had inside!

It landed on the desk in front of her with a loud thud.

C.C.'s eyes widened, "I've deeply wronged _every single person_ in _there?_ "

"Indeed, you have," Peter pushed it towards her. "Take a look, and tell me what you think."

She wavered for a second, but then pulled the file closer and opened it, starting to go over the contents. Each page appeared to be one person, giving all the information one could ever need about them, even to the most _minute_ of details. And of course, alongside all their birth dates came their dates of death – all of them almost _enviously_ far in the future, C.C. thought.

She quickly flicked over the page from Nanny Fine's profile, saw the next one, and looked up at Peter in confusion.

"How have I wronged _Maxwell?_ "

Peter didn't even hesitate as he replied, "Manipulation, and constant pursuing of affection, even after it became clear that he wasn't interested."

She wanted to argue back that she'd stopped that a while ago now, but she also supposed that Peter already knew, and that ceased behaviour didn't necessarily mean _reformed_ or _redeemed_ behaviour. And she was sure that her work for the company wouldn't have any bearing on whether or not she'd made up for any of it…

Besides, she felt like there was someone better to pick.

And that feeling was proved right when she turned over the page, to come across a very familiar name and picture.

She thought she'd never see that sandy blonde hair and those icy-blue eyes again, but she'd been proven wrong.

And she couldn't help it, but she was starting to think about all the _fun_ she could have, being around him all the time without him knowing. Nothing _too_ dangerous, obviously – physical pranks that _really_ hurt were more _his_ territory, anyway – but just enough to keep herself amused day-in, day-out as she followed the non-adventures of one lone butler whose only social life outside of his place of employment-slash-residence involved saying "hello" to the supermarket cashier.

That was it; her mind was made up. She'd keep the details to _herself_ , of course, but she was starting to think that this would be a lot better than just _easy_. It would be _fun_ , too.

She must have been smiling, because Peter spoke again.

"Have you picked someone?"

"Yeah…I think I have," she looked up at him briefly, and then back down to the page, before tapping it with her finger. "This one. Him; Niles Brightmore."

She pushed the file back towards Peter, and he took it to take a look himself. It didn't take too long for him to look oddly pleased, if only briefly, before he closed it up.

"Excellent," he said, before putting the file back in the drawer and standing up to go back around the corner of the desk. "Now, if you'll just stand up for one moment, we can get you prepared for what you'll have to do."

"Stay with Niles and make sure he doesn't get hit by a bus or something," despite her slightly impatient grumbling, C.C. did as she was told, going to stand in the middle of the floor where Peter directed her. "How much preparation do I really need for _that?_ "

Peter stood back from her, pushing her chair closer to the desk as he did, "Just a little. Hold still."

And as he said that, C.C. began to feel… _odd_. Like the air around her was humming, or vibrating. It made her feel… _heavier_ , for some reason.

She looked down at herself, to see if she could spot anything out of the ordinary, "What's this?"

"I'm giving you clearance," Peter replied.

The heaviness was making it difficult for C.C. to move, but she could still lift her eyes towards him, puzzled.

"Clearance? For what?"

As she asked, the buzzing or humming or whatever it was gradually began to fade away.

She still felt heavy, though. But Peter didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong, if something was, and continued.

"Well, if you're going to be looking after someone who's mortal, you're going to need to be able to do certain things in the world that your current physical capabilities wouldn't allow you to. No sense in trying to push him out of the way of _buses_ , for instance, if you can't touch him," he told her. "This is just a little…extra _magic_ , so you'll have a proper presence in the world again."

As his explanation finished, C.C. realised the vibrating feeling had entirely gone, and she looked down at her body, patting it all over. She certainly felt solid enough to _her_ , and she felt a swell of something like optimism in her chest…

She couldn't help the hopefulness in her voice as she asked, "So…does that mean I…I _get my body back?_ "

Peter shrugged, but nodded at the same time, "In a sense. It's like…you're still you; but you still won't be perceived in any way; not by sight, sound or smell. You'll be able to have more of a physical impact on the world than you already do, but in return, the world will _not_ be able to have a physical impact on you. So, you can still walk through things and people can walk through you, unless you want to interact with them. You can touch objects and people again, properly."

"But they won't see me at all?" she had to be certain it was still the same as before.

Peter went back to his desk, "Some people might think they see something, out of the corner of their eye, or in a mirror, but most won't see anything. So, let's just go with saying that no one will see you. Just like before you came here."

All the better for her plan, really. There was some sense of disappointment at no one ever being able to see her again that she couldn't help, but she was sure being around the mansion again would take care of that. She'd relax more the longer she spent there.

And making her presence known to a certain butler in all kinds of ways made up for it _tenfold._

"Okay, I guess I can live – or, _not_ live – with that, as it were," she nodded. "Am I ready, now?"

Peter gave her a thoughtful look, "You're fully equipped for the task; being _ready_ is a state of mind. The question is whether or not you _feel_ ready."

C.C. felt the corners of her mouth turning upwards into a smirk, "Oh, I think I've been ready for this for a _long_ time."

"Well, that's certainly the spirit," Peter smiled back. "No pun intended, of course."

"You got me there," C.C. laughed, starting to actually enjoy herself. She then clapped her hands together in a fashion that indicated she was ready to start. "So, what do I do now?"

Peter gestured towards the door to the waiting room, "Probably the easiest part, actually. Just go back through the door, and you'll be where you need to be."

She looked over towards it, not entirely knowing what she'd been expecting when she did – maybe something like the bright spark of light that had brought her here? But all she saw was the door, just as ordinary as any other.

At least, that was how it _looked_ , anyway. There was a burst of excitement in her every time she thought about going through it; she'd be going back to the world she hadn't really wanted to leave behind, and she'd be seeing all the people she thought she'd never see again…

They wouldn't be seeing her, but she'd get used to that. In fact, she'd take _complete_ _advantage_ of it.

"Okay," she nodded once more at Peter, and began to head for the door. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. If you have any questions or queries you'll be brought back here, so feel free to think them or even say them out loud. I'll be happy to help," he called in return.

"I'll keep that in mind," she looked back over her shoulder one more time as she grasped the door handle. "Goodbye, Peter."

Peter smiled, "Farewell, Miss Babcock."

Turning back, and with no hesitation or reluctance, she opened the door to more blinding white light.

And instead of fighting it like she'd done at the funeral, she allowed herself to pass through.


	5. The Second Chance

**Hey, everybody! Well, it's finally here - I managed to get this next chapter done! I'm sorry I left it for so long, but between uni work and other stories taking my attention this kind of got buried underneath it all. But it's here and ready, and hopefully I'll get more time soon to work on the next chapter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

Niles didn't understand it. He'd only put the cloth down on the counter for a second and then turned away to fetch something off the stove, but when he turned back…it was just _gone!_ And it wasn't the first time it had happened in the past two weeks, either. Things just kept disappearing on him, and it was starting to tick him off more than a little.

He'd just started losing things, ever since…

He sighed to himself, and started looking for the cloth. He couldn't allow himself to stop working, or to think about… _anything else_ for too long. He didn't like to think about what would happen if he did. Not when there was work to be done, and other things that he could be focused on.

Those other things were his purpose now. Cleaning, cooking, running errands. They were monotonous, but he supposed they kept his mind occupied. Not in the way he would have _liked,_ nothing like it at all. But it was something _real,_ and _present,_ and it just about kept him from completely wallowing in his own misery.

He could almost hear her saying "Yeah, wallowing like a hippopotamus", and it put an aching lump in his throat and chest that he couldn't quite manage to swallow down. Instead, he took in a deep breath and refocused himself on finding the cloth. Not that it was easy. He'd woken up thinking about her that morning, so it had taken him a long time to work up the energy to even leave his bed. Even thinking that much about it right then made him want to crawl back under the covers and wait for the world to end.

It was something of a relief when the door to the dining room swung open, and Fran came in.

"Niles, are ya busy?" she asked, looking down to where he was busy bending over to see if the cloth had somehow slid under the table.

He straightened back up, turning to face her fully, "I'm just looking for the dishcloth, it seems to have disappeared on me…"

Fran nodded understandingly, "Oh. Like yer feather duster the other day, right?"

"And the entire tea tray the day before," Niles replied, leaning on the counter, biting the inside of his cheek. "And my _shoes,_ this morning."

"Hm. Well, lemme see if I can help," the former nanny began looking around, eventually diving for something on the floor near the fridge. "Oh, here it is…!"

Niles blinked. That was nowhere _near_ where he'd been when he'd last had the cloth!

"That's funny," he commented, gesturing towards the counter area near the sink. "I could've _sworn_ I'd put it down over there…"

But Fran didn't seem to be interested in the cloth anymore. She dumped it on the counter and peered at his arm.

"What's that?"

Niles put his hand down, "What's what?"

"That, on yer hand. Lemme take a look," she rounded the corner of the counter and took his hand, examining it carefully. "Niles, yer knuckles are all bruised! What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he replied, taking his hand away again and heading back towards the sink. "I was getting something off a shelf and a book fell on my hand. Now, you asked me if I was busy?"

Fran followed, "Did ya put ice on it?"

"On _what?_ " Niles asked, just about stopping himself from snapping. Why couldn't the former nanny just ask her question, so he could answer and then get back to his work?

He had to get back to work, before he thought about anything else again.

"Yer hand!"

Oh, why couldn't she just _stop_ with his bloody hand! There was nothing _wrong_ with it! Of course, he didn't want to phrase it like that, but at this point it was becoming a matter of whatever would get her to leave him be the quickest.

"Mrs Sheffield, it's not that serious; I _promise_ you, I'm fine," he rested his hands either side of the sink, exasperated. "Now, I'll ask again; what was it you wanted to know before?"

Fran took a step towards him, a determined look in her eyes.

"Maxwell wanted me ta come talk ta you," she said, pointing in accusation. "He'd be in here as well, but he's had so much ta do, with everything that's been goin' on. We're both really worried fer you, Niles! Ya haven't been eatin' right at mealtimes, ya keep misplacing things despite the fact that you've been working more than ever before, and now ya got mysterious bruises showin' up on yer hand the day after I hear a whole lotta angry noise comin' from yer room!"

"That was the _book_ falling on my _hand!_ " he explained. It might have come out in a rather loud and frustrated burst. "It had a sort of domino effect with the other things on the shelf, so I _might_ have cursed a bit while I picked everything up because it was making a mess and I was _in pain!_ "

Silence followed his eruption. And then Fran asked one question, very softly.

"Does it still hurt, Scarecrow?"

Of course it did. It wasn't going to stop. And no amount of talking, or trying to get him to take care of things that just didn't matter, or telling him that things would get better, was going to change anything. The least she could do now was let him get back to what he was doing.

As if on cue, the uncomfortably still air was pierced with the sound of the doorbell.

Niles looked between the doorway and his friend a couple of times, before heading to answer it. _This,_ at least, was something he could focus on without having to think.

"I'll get it."

* * *

C.C. had ducked out into the dining room when Nanny Fine had come in. She hadn't wanted the brunette to accidentally witness anything, if the opportunity to prank Niles again had been just too great to resist. The past two weeks had been _spectacular_ – getting to do whatever she wanted around the mansion without any kind of interference had been the most fun she'd ever had in her entire _life!_

Well, the state she was currently in didn't exactly _count_ as life, but who cared about that? It was hilarious either way.

She was so busy giggling to herself she didn't hear what was being said in the kitchen, and she started a little when Niles pushed his way into the dining room and marched straight on through without stopping.

The doorbell had rung. He was probably ticked off because he had to answer it, on top of having at least twelve other things to do all at once. One of those things being finding the _cloth,_ probably.

With another quiet laugh, she made to follow him. She'd been trying to come up with another method of keeping herself amused at his expense for the past few days, and she was almost completely certain what she had in mind would do it for a while. And then she'd think of something else, and so on and so forth, until she was done with this whole assignment thing.

But as she went through the doorway from the dining room into the corridor, it became clear very quickly that she wasn't in the Sheffield mansion anymore.

She was in Peter's office again, facing his desk!

"Peter?" she looked around, making absolute sure that was where she was, and she wasn't just seeing it somehow from the mansion. "What am I doing up _here?_ "

Peter sighed heavily, looking up at last from a stack of papers he'd been busy reading through.

"Are you sure you don't already know, Miss Babcock?" he didn't sound pleased, and he put the paper he'd currently been working on back down. "Couldn't you have perhaps guessed that causing mischief is _not_ one of the roles you've been granted this opportunity to perform?"

He knew. Of course he knew. He'd been watching all that time! Did pranks really count against her like this? She hadn't _hurt_ Niles, she'd only been having a little _fun!_

The door was still there, the one from before, she could see it out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't going through it; it didn't matter how much she had to kick and scream and beg, she was _not_ going through!

The thought of having to fight and plead for her own safety all over again was making her feel sick, and the longer Peter just kept on looking at her in silence, the more she panicked.

"Oh, God…I've failed, haven't I? I've been at this two _weeks_ and I've failed _already!_ " she covered her mouth in terror, and felt her feet digging into the floor in preparation to run, the plan she'd had the first time around still in place in her head.

"No, Miss Babcock, you haven't failed. Please relax, your patron upstairs has vouched for you again," Peter said, tapping one of the pieces of paper in front of him, before folding his hands together. "Granted, you being an invisible presence has not worked out the way it was _hoped,_ but they've found an alternative route and asked us to give you a slightly different form of clearance, in exchange for being able to interact whenever you want with the physical world."

Even in her dread, C.C. managed to hear what he was saying, and as she tried to calm herself down she asked the most prominent question that came to mind (that didn't have to do with her ultimate destination in the afterlife).

"Slightly…different clearance? What does _that_ mean?"

"Your chosen mortal will be able to see and hear you," Peter explained. "No one else will be able to, but _he_ will."

C.C. felt something jolt in her chest, which she pushed back down. Niles would… _see_ her? Be able to _talk_ and _communicate_ with her?

Was that really a good, working, alternate idea?

"Why does he have to see me?"

Peter got up from his desk, gathered the papers, and began to put them away in a folder on the shelf behind him, "Because him _not_ being able to see you is currently causing a number of other problems in the mortal world. Thanks to your interference, others close to him are starting to think that he's harming himself, and he's not far from questioning his own behaviour."

C.C. folded her arms, cocking her head to one side a little, "Not to tell you how to do your job or anything like that, but won't him seeing me just make him _actually_ question his behaviour?"

"Only at first. But with this new clearance in place, you'll be there to explain, and he'll begin to connect all the patterns together. He'll believe you're really there by the end of it," Peter came back to the desk, and leaned against it, looking at her seriously. "The damage caused will be reversed, and then you are to _properly_ get to work, alright?"

Well, it had to be better than the _alternative,_ that was for sure. There was no harm done, doing it this way. And it _might_ stop her from getting bored, if she was going to be doing this until it was Niles' turn to kick the bucket.

Maybe it wouldn't be _so_ bad…she _could_ use somebody to talk to, rather than just herself. And who better to talk to than the person she'd most often tossed jibes at when she was alive?

"Alright," she conceded, nodding. "And no more pranks, I swear."

She raised her hand in a "Scout's honour" fashion. Only then did Peter begin to smile.

"Good," he returned to his seat, and opened the top drawer of his desk, taking out a series of papers that looked identical to the ones he'd just put away. "I haven't had a case fail yet, and I'd be most put out if I did. Even the worst offenders who chose this route have all managed to find something in themselves by doing this."

His words made it sound like he was implying something, and C.C. wasn't going to leave that alone.

"And you think _I_ will too, huh?"

"That remains to be seen. Hold still just one moment."

Peter fixed her with an intense stare, and the buzzing feeling from before returned, only this time it left her feeling lighter. For some reason, her vision was clearer and colours looked brighter as well, but she supposed that was just a side effect.

Peter certainly seemed satisfied with the results, and he waved her towards the door, "There. You will be visible to Mr Brightmore, and in exchange you will only be able to touch people or objects if it is deemed necessary. Now, I shall let you return to your duties."

"Okay," C.C. nodded again, and began to turn away. But something came to mind when she did, and she turned back. "Hey, uh…Peter?"

"Yes, Miss Babcock?" came the reply; the man at the desk was spreading out the new series of papers across the surface.

"Who vouched for me? Upstairs, I mean."

That made Peter look up again. He looked like he had a strange sparkle in his eyes – of amusement? Happiness? C.C. wasn't sure.

"An old friend of yours. She knows all about the power of second chances," the man said, half-smiling. "She went to Earth a few years ago, to help her widowed husband get his."

"Oh," C.C. wasn't sure who that could be. She'd met so many people over the course of her life, there might have been more than one person who fit the description. But it didn't matter, she'd find out when and if she found out. "Hm. Well, I won't keep you. See you later, Peter."

She turned away again, hearing Peter call after her.

"Hopefully _much_ later, Miss Babcock."

She chuckled. _Hopefully,_ indeed. If she couldn't get away with pranks, then verbal zingers might be a better option instead. Words couldn't hurt or kill like that, so there was no danger of being brought back and getting in trouble again. And she _did_ have to admit, she'd thought of some good insults whilst she'd been hanging around the house, watching the butler not do very much in between bouts of resting.

Him actually knowing she was there might liven things up a bit. The house had looked kind of dark and quiet recently, if she was being honest.

"You'd better get ready, Butler Boy," she thought to herself as she opened the door. "I'm comin' back to haunt you."

With no hesitation whatsoever, she stepped back into the world of the living.


	6. The Reunion

**Hey, everybody! Well, here's the new chapter, all ready. I'm sorry it took a bit longer than I thought it would - as well as my essays, I've had a surprise this week in the form of a job interview over the phone that I only found out about on Tuesday. I'm waiting to hear back from them, so I've taken a break and filled the time with writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

The days were quiet. The nights were long. And Niles felt like they were stretching out into infinity. He stopped crying every morning after about a week – he began to figure he had to hold it in. It was too much to have to look at the Sheffields every morning knowing that they could see his red eyes, and were pitying him behind their own. He'd tried to do it mostly in the shower, to reduce the puffiness and hide the tears, but he knew they'd still know.

He didn't want that. And the only way to avoid any of it was to keep on doing what he had been doing – working. It hadn't truly proved any kind of distraction after all, but it continued to give him a reason to get out of bed in the morning. No matter how small and unimportant that reason really was.

And opening the kitchen cupboard to put away a freshly washed stack of dishes felt small and unimportant.

He was turning to grab them when a very familiar, very _unexpected_ voice came from the other side of the counter.

"Hey there, Scrub Brush."

It made him look up immediately. He couldn't have heard right – it _had_ to be someone else! Anything _else_ was impossi-

But there she was. Grinning at him, like she'd only left him a few minutes before with some sort of prank that she'd played on him and was returning to witness the outcome.

But it wasn't a prank – she was _dead,_ wasn't she?! Mr Sheffield _himself_ had gone down to the hospital to confirm it!

In that instant, his heart was exploding with feelings. _Happiness. Confusion…_

But currently, most of all, _terror,_ which was reflected in a leap into the air that would've impressed some Olympic gymnasts, and an horrific crashing noise as he lost his grip on the plates, which fell to the floor and smashed into pieces.

Of course, it was all accompanied by a scream, because his day really just couldn't get any worse or more confusing.

" _Aah!_ "

All the chaos was obviously audible from outside the kitchen, because the next thing Niles knew, Maxwell was rushing in from the door to the dining room.

"Niles!" the producer's eyes scanned the floor and its shattered contents. "What the devil's going on, Old Man? Seems to be an awful mess in here. Did you drop these?"

His automatic reaction was to tell his employer exactly what had happened, " _Yes,_ because I saw-"

Miss Babcock held up one finger to halt him in his tracks, "He can't see or hear me; it's _all_ on you, Butler Boy."

He hadn't considered that possibility, but it was starting to register that Maxwell hadn't noticed her in the room, stood there bold as brass, when he'd come in.

She was right…only he could see her, couldn't he?

Maxwell blinked at him in confusion, "Saw what, Niles?"

He'd think he was stark-raving mad if he told him. Perhaps he _was._ But until he was sure if he needed help or not, he wasn't going to let it all out into the open.

"I…thought I saw something, or someone…outside, at the window…" he looked over towards the back of the kitchen, pointing a little for extra effect.

Mr Sheffield seemed to take that explanation, perhaps concerned at the idea of an intruder, and he went to investigate out the window.

"Hm…" he craned his neck to look more, but eventually stopped and turned back. "Well, there's nobody there _now._ Maybe the wind was blowing through the plants, and made it look like there was someone there?"

Niles let out a quiet breath of relief. He'd gotten away with it, for now.

"Maybe…" he shook his head, as if dismissing the notion. He then gestured to the broken plates. "My apologies, sir, I'll have this cleaned up in no time."

"It's quite alright, take all the time you need," Maxwell came over and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. "I think it's still a little raw for all of us, isn't it? If only C.C. were still here…"

That would have been a more poignant statement, if the woman in question wasn't busy pulling faces at her former business associate from over his shoulder.

Niles gritted his teeth, " _If only…_ "

"Anyway, I'll let you get back to this," the… _still living_ …producer stepped over the small porcelain carnage on the tiles, heading back towards the dining room. "Tell you what, after you're finished, why don't you take the rest of the day off, hm? I'll get Fran to order in Chinese or something like that for dinner."

Miss Babcock's eyebrow raised, "Wow, _someone's_ loosened up since I kicked the bucket."

Niles ignored the remark, "Thank you, sir."

Maxwell gave him one final smile and left the room, and Niles mentally cringed that he hadn't been able to avoid being pitied one final time.

But he _could_ get some answers. He'd just heard the door from the dining room into the hallway closing, so he and the apparent ghost were alone, and he could be as loud and confused as he liked.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?!" he marched over to where she was stood, avoiding the larger pieces of plate still on the floor. "Am I going out of my _mind?!_ "

The blonde former producer looked faintly amused, "Perhaps. I don't see what that has to do with _me_ being here, but it's a possibility, at your age."

Was she really being this nonchalant about it all? How could she be?! Maybe that just _proved_ he was going out of his mind, even though he didn't _feel_ like he was.

"You're _dead!_ " he shouted, as if she didn't know. He had to prove to himself that he still had _some_ rational thought. "Dead people don't just show up in kitchens!"

Miss Babcock shrugged, "They do if the person they're supposed to be _watching_ is in there."

That wasn't an answer he'd been prepared for, "…What?"

"Surprise!" she shrugged at him lightly, holding her hands out in a "what-can-you-do" fashion. "Guess who's got themselves their very own guardian angel?"

He'd heard _that_ completely right. Not that he _believed_ it.

" _What?!_ "

Miss Babcock frowned a little.

"Maybe you oughta sit down for this," she nodded to the nearest chair, before appearing to…float upwards, to sit cross-legged in the air just above the table…!

Niles blanched, and pointed between her and the table surface, "Are you…going to do that _all_ the time?"

She sighed in frustration before replying, "Cut me some slack, okay? I can't touch things, so I can't sit like you can."

Well, what else could he do? He was more focused on the fact that he might get some answers, anyway.

"Alright, fine," he nodded, and seated himself. "There, I'm sat; are you going to explain everything now?"

"Yes, well," Miss Babcock looked like she wanted to shift uncomfortably. "After I…had the accident, I had to stay with my body for a little while. And then, at my funeral I looked around at all the guests…and when the priest finally commended me, I was taken… _upstairs._ "

Niles' eyes widened. Did…did that mean what he _thought_ it meant?

"Upstairs?" he hesitantly pointed upwards. "You…you mean-"

"Yep. It exists, alright," the blonde woman confirmed matter-of-factly. "Once I was there, I got given an assignment – to look after one person I knew in life, for the rest of their time on Earth."

"And you… _chose me?_ "

"That I did," she nodded once.

That didn't sound right. When she'd been…before, she'd known _lots_ of people. She could have picked _any_ of them. By all rights, he was the _last_ person she'd choose!

Unless, of course, she had something to _gain_ from it.

The butler narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "Why, do I have the shortest amount of time left?"

" _No,_ " she said. "The temptation to haunt you was just too good to resist."

Well, when she put it like _that,_ it made more sense.

"Haunt me…" Niles' eyes wandered towards the table as he tried letting it all sink in. "Well, you're doing a very good job with _that_ one, already! And as for watching over me, I suppose I haven't had any fatal accidents yet…"

But there came a creeping feeling, at the idea of her having been watching him all this time without his knowledge. And with that, there came the knowledge of some of the things he'd had to do _during_ that time.

"Wait a moment. You…you haven't been watching me _all_ the time, have you?" he felt his cheeks growing hot, and a flushed embarrassment coming over him which he tried perhaps ineffectively to counter by folding his arms over his body and crossing his legs. "When I've been dressing and undressing and getting in the shower?!"

" _No!_ " it was Miss Babcock's turn to fold her arms, and she quickly turned her face away from him towards the wall. "I wait outside when you're showering, and I turn around when you get dressed!"

Well… _that_ he could live with. At least she would have missed most of his crying. Her both knowing _and_ being around him for the rest of his life was a bad combination. She'd never let him live it down, and then he'd be almost convinced his scheduled demise would be from embarrassment.

Although her waiting outside _did_ leave one thing on his mind, given her new role.

Relaxing his limbs, he pressed on with his questioning, "But…what if I slip in the bathroom? Aren't you supposed to stop that from happening?"

"I've _seen_ your bathroom, Niles, there's not enough _room_ to slip in there," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Maxwell didn't exactly pull out all the stops when having it fitted."

She did have a point. He could reach out both arms in his bathroom (well, more of a shower room) and touch both walls. He could probably easily steady himself if he had to, even without the mat on the tiled floor and the non-slip one in the shower tray.

"Hm. You might be right, there," he ran a hand through his hair, before straightening up in his seat. "So, you're dead and my personal guardian demon now."

"You're right about at least _one_ of those things," she muttered back, sounding bitter.

"Then why haven't I been able to _see_ you for these past two weeks? If you've been here all this time."

He very nearly took back that question. It sounded almost like he was asking her why she hadn't come back to him right away, and he wanted to stay away from those kinds of questions. He knew how he felt, but it wouldn't mean anything to her, living _or_ dead.

Even if she _had_ chosen him.

Miss Babcock half-cocked her head and shrugged at his question.

"Well, that was Peter's idea."

Niles quirked an eyebrow curiously, "Peter?"

"He's…sort of my boss now, I guess," she answered lamely. "He gave me this assignment. Decided that you needed to see me after _not_ seeing me caused a little bit of trouble around here."

So it was an exchange of some kind. But it was also a punishment.

But a punishment for what?

"…Trouble?" he echoed, before the realisation struck. "Are you the reason so many of my things have been going missing recently?"

"Wow, that took you long enough, even if you only just saw me," the former producer joked.

Not that Niles found it funny, "I thought I was losing my mind!"

Miss Babcock held back laughter, "Well, like I said, that's not uncommon for people of your _very advanced age…_ "

"It's not _funny,_ Babcock!" the butler snapped, very nearly getting up from the table. "The Sheffields've practically been discussing having me committed! They think that I'm not…"

She cocked her head to one side, "Not what?"

Not _coping._ That was what he'd been about to say, only just remembering who he was – miraculously – talking to. Or maybe he wasn't, he still didn't know for sure if this wasn't all in his head and he'd rationalised misplacing things by putting _her_ face on _his_ forgetfulness.

But...maybe that didn't matter? As long as things mostly stayed the same with him, perhaps it was alright? It wasn't hurting anyone, being able to see her. He'd missed her so much it felt like some of the weight had been lifted from his heart, and even just being able to _see_ her, and know that she was alright in _some_ form, was better than nothing, wasn't it? They could have their zingers, like they had (when they were alone, obviously), and things…well, he didn't know where things would go. That was out of his hands, and more in hers.

"Never mind, it isn't important," he shook his head, dismissing her question and the thought. He rubbed his forehead and wiped his eyes. "I have a feeling that I might start improving again, anyway…"

The pause that followed made him nervous; there was too much potential for her to ask what he meant by that.

So he filled it with more conversation instead, "But that's beside the point. What comes next? What do we do now you're...here?"

Miss Babcock shrugged, "Well, nothing, for now."

"Nothing?" he repeated.

"For now," she said, gesturing back and forth between them. "You go about your life, I go about my business making sure you're able to _continue_ going about your life, and things…carry on as normal."

Her choice of words was slightly poor, in his mind.

"Normal…! Nothing about _this_ is normal!" he wiped his face with both hands, propping his elbows on the table momentarily before dropping them away again. "But alright. Alright. I accept whatever form of madness this is, if both it _and_ you are here to stay."

When he looked up at his new guardian angel again, she was smirking at him.

"Indeed I am, Hazel," she said. "Indeed I am. Now get busy cleanin' up that china you just catapulted onto the floor – I'll be up here making sure you don't slip and fall face-first into it or something."

Heaving a sigh, Niles got to his feet. Even if none of this was _actually_ normal, and he _was_ actually going mad, it all felt very familiar.

And he'd welcome it as the new normal, as long as it meant she was back for good.


	7. The First Time Saved

**Hi, everybody! Well, I finally got this chapter done - the day after I graduated, and everything! I'm going to have quite a bit of time now until I find a job (the one I told you guys about before didn't pan out), so hopefully I'll be a bit quicker with updates. I hope you all enjoy this!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

The weeks, slowly but surely, began to pass. Getting used to all the new information was probably taking a toll on the butler, C.C. thought. She supposed she had to allow time for him to process it. Her presence alone had to come with a number of questions he wasn't asking.

Not that she'd probably know how to answer all of them if he did.

It was much easier to try and pick back up where they'd left off while he thought about whatever he had to, which they'd sort of been managing (on and off) so far. But the former producer couldn't help feeling frustrated at the same time – it might've been a job to look after Niles, but she missed her old one. He still got to have _his_ day-to-day, and she was stuck watching life play out in real time with no hope of being able to join in.

It didn't help that most of the butler's chores (and routines which didn't involve their zingers) were boring as hell, either. She'd told him more than once within the first week of their new arrangement, too. But when they were alone, he'd just kept on reminding her (sometimes with something that looked – briefly – like glee) that she'd gotten herself into this position in the first place.

C.C. had shut up about it after that. She might've found it mind-numbingly dull, especially when he couldn't always reply to her attempts at banter, but it was better than nothing. Well, it was better than something which was probably _worse_ than nothing.

And it sometimes meant getting out and seeing the city, which was something else she'd feared never being able to do again.

It was a nice enough afternoon for not being stuck in the mansion, but she and Niles had been bouncing insults off one another all day and tensions were starting to run high. The butler was marching along, trying to finish the last chore on his schedule, and occasionally tossing back an insult whenever he thought of one.

Getting everything done was taking so long, C.C. thought she'd run out of things to joke about before he managed it!

But there was one unusual detail she hadn't so far thought to ask – or, well, make up a zinger – about; the fact that he kept an old (obviously bought second-hand) phone clamped to his ear whenever they went outside. They'd had to go out three times in about the last five days, and he'd taken it like that every single time!

"Why do you even _bother_ with that thing, anyway?" she asked, folding her arms as she floated alongside him, keeping pace even though he was hurrying. She missed the solid feeling of the sidewalk beneath her feet, but there was something to be said for getting around by essentially flying, too. "If it's an attempt at looking like some kind of professional, I'm afraid that ship has _long_ sailed, Butler Boy."

She thought she heard Niles let out a low grumble before he replied.

"I'm holding up the phone because if I talk to you like this without it, people will think I'm insane," he retorted. "I know that was a regular occurrence for you, but most people tend to try and avoid it."

C.C. started to scowl, and would've tossed something back about people avoiding _him_ as well, but he'd stopped all of a sudden and she had to come to a halt, too. If she'd had a physical presence it would have been clumsy, but in her current form it was as smooth as silk.

Niles, meanwhile, was busy peering at the piece of paper where he'd put all his tasks for the day. The little scrap taken from an old notebook was becoming ever more creased as the hours wore on. C.C. came forward a little and hovered over his shoulder, just in his line of sight.

"Having trouble reading your list?" she cocked her head to one side, feigning curiosity. "Now, is it your age, or just the sloppiness of the writing that's tripping you up?"

Frowning in disapproval, Niles snapped his eyes back to the paper, "You know perfectly well I wrote this list at five o'clock this morning. My mind wasn't fully awake."

The former producer raised her eyebrows, "Is it ever? Need I remind you that I can see you at all hours of the day now-"

"And isn't _that_ a blessing for us both?" the butler muttered sarcastically.

C.C. ignored it, and continued what she had to say.

"And just as I suspected before, you do the same amount of work during the day as you do at the beginning and at the end of it!" she finished with a satisfied air.

It was apparently Niles' turn to ignore her after that, as he tried again to make out the very last instruction that would allow him to finish up for the day, so that they could go back to the mansion.

After a few moments of him clearly coming up with nothing, C.C. tutted and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for Pete's sakes! Here, lemme take a look," she leaned in and examined the paper herself. "Pick up…dry cleaning."

Niles blinked, "How did you get "dry cleaning" from _that?_ "

C.C. smirked at him as she pulled back, away from the list.

"It's one of my many new powers, Hazel," she told him, unable and not really wanting to help the smugness permeating her tone. "I'm invisible, I'm super strong, and I can read any language on Earth, including the previously indecipherable Butler's Chicken Scratch."

She flicked her finger through the paper as she said that, knowing that her words had annoyed him at least a little more.

But he was trying his damned hardest not to show it.

He stuffed his list back into his pocket and began to move, "Well, you'll have to demonstrate your wonderful new talent of being able to read another time. We have to get moving – the cleaners' closes in half an hour."

Knowing she'd won at least that round – and maybe the whole day, if her calculations and scorekeeping were correct – she made to follow him with a grin.

"Alright."

They kept on walking (well, _one_ of them was walking), still tossing jibes as they moved. But eventually it got to the point where C.C. thought Niles might've made a mistake.

She was certain he was supposed to have turned a corner at least a block ago, but he hadn't! If he kept going he'd never make it to the dry cleaners' before they closed, and then she'd never hear the end of how the place closed far too early anyway, and that the prices were practically legalised theft, and how he could do a better job of getting stains out anyway, he just didn't have the time or equipment!

She'd heard it all before, and if this was it for the foreseeable future, she wanted his complaints to at least be _interesting._

"Didn't you miss the turn?" she piped up, looking around for the street sign to tell them how far out of the way they'd gone.

Niles looked up at her from where he'd fixed his eyes on the sidewalk, slowing down but not stopping.

"Hm? What?"

C.C. pointed back the way they'd come, "The turn, for the corner. The dry cleaners' is back down there."

The butler shook his head, and kept on walking, "No, it isn't."

The former producer floated along beside him, raising her voice to make him listen, "Yeah, it is – the nearest to the house, the one I know you always use because it's not far to walk – is on 76th!"

"We're not _at_ 76th yet!" Niles barked, speeding up just a little.

Like he could leave her behind! Even if there wasn't a crossing ahead that he'd have to slow down for, she'd always catch up.

She followed him, gesturing around at all the buildings they passed, "Yes, we are! Look around, you've haunted this neighbourhood long enough! Or are you now so old that you can't recognise local areas, along with your own handwriting?"

They were still moving, coming up to the edge of the sidewalk.

"I can recognise anywhere I have to, thank you," Niles said curtly, looking directly at C.C. as he took a step back into the road. "So I know for sure that the dry cleaners' is still down this wa-"

" _Niles watch out!_ "

C.C. had seen the speeding car just in time. To mortals, at a moment like that the world might've slowed down. But if it did anything for C.C., it sped up.

She reacted almost out of a newfound instinct, throwing her arms around the butler and pulling him back onto the sidewalk. The vehicle zoomed past, honking the horn angrily all the way, and it was over.

But even in the aftermath, she didn't let go of Niles.

His face was so close to hers, she could see the awe in his eyes at what had just happened. She could feel her arms around his shoulders and middle, his heavy breathing lifting and pressing his chest against hers as he tried to catch his breath back, and…and…

His arms were…almost encircling her, too? Or, they looked like they were out like they _wanted_ to – he couldn't quite touch her where-

"Hey, you okay there, pal?"

The new voice – the voice of a concerned man who'd clearly witnessed the near-accident – brought them both back into the present.

C.C. snapped out of the reverie, burying whatever her mind was trying to bring up with it, and pulled away from holding the butler.

But even after that Niles still seemed distracted, and C.C. had to quietly prompt him so that he'd remember to answer the man.

"Oh…um, yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," the butler nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. "I um, just...got kind of a shock, that was all…"

The stranger didn't seem to think much of it after that, and soon disappeared back into the crowds. It left C.C. watching Niles as he searched around for where he'd dropped the phone, which had still been in his hand when C.C. had pulled him out of the road.

He eventually found it, but it looked as though the car which had failed to hit him had run over the device and crushed it.

Well, there went all methods of two-way outdoor communication for the time being. But perhaps it was for the best, for the time being – C.C. wasn't sure she wanted to talk about what had happened (ever), but she _did_ know that she could keep her mouth shut about it. And now Niles had to keep quiet as well, meaning he couldn't try and bring it up, either.

Not that she expected him to. It can't have meant anything. It'd been a shock for them both, that was all – he'd almost died, she'd saved him, and it was the first time in far too long that she'd been able to hold another person. If it happened again, it wouldn't feel the same – it was a job. She had to treat it like one, and get back to a more comfortable routine.

She lightly brushed her hand through his arm, checking that the 'necessary touching' was over and done with under the pretence of patting his sleeve to get him moving, and started to head back towards the mansion.

"Come on, Hazel; let's go."

* * *

There wasn't any talking at all on the way back, and Niles wasn't quite sure how to feel.

For starters, he was having to contend with the fact that he'd just almost been knocked down by a car. That alone would have been enough for most people.

But he had the added measure of thinking about how it was _Miss Babcock_ that had saved him – saved _him!_ – from being killed.

Of course, he also had to think about the fact that it was her job to do that now. She'd been sent to watch over him, and he had to imagine that this sort of thing came with the territory.

But she _had_ held him for an awfully long time afterwards. A lot longer than was probably reasonable for pulling somebody out of the road. He'd been able to feel her arms around him, too, and her chest pressed against his…

He'd tried to hold her, as well. He could admit that much to himself, even if the possibility of anything else was…well, quite frankly, impossible. She wasn't there in the same capacity as other people anymore (even if she had been, his chances would still have been non-existent), and his hands hadn't found anything where he'd tried to put them.

He was quite grateful that she hadn't brought it up, really. Not that he expected _that_ to last long. She was probably waiting for an opportunity when they could both talk freely, and with the untimely destruction of his phone, the delay in communications was lengthened.

He was thinking about how he could explain away his behaviour for the moment they were alone, as he opened the door into the kitchen.

Mr and Mrs Sheffield were nursing mugs of tea at the table as he came in, Miss Babcock not far behind. She might have actually come through the door as it closed, but she didn't say a word about it if so. It can't have bothered her, at any rate, because she couldn't touch anything.

Well, most of the time, anyway.

Fran was the first to look up from her tea, and her face screwed up in some confusion.

"Niles, where's the dry cleaning? I thought ya said ya'd pick it up today?"

Of course she was wondering about that – she'd been waiting for one of her favourite dresses, which had needed a delicate cleaning after an unfortunate incident involving a tray of brownie batter, which Sylvia had mistaken for a full tray of brownies without realising her daughter was behind her (and would catch her in the act of helping herself to Niles' half-finished baking).

The butler shook his head, shuffling further into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Miss Babcock take a floating position over the counter, watching the conversation take place. She looked as though she was curious about what he'd have to say, even if they both knew he wasn't going to say a word about exactly _how_ he was saved.

He didn't like the thought of being confined to a clinic or a hospital room, and if she thought his _regular_ day was boring, then she'd be climbing the walls if she had to go with him to something like that.

"I never ended up getting it…" he explained to Fran, trying to head straight through into the dining room. "It was the last thing on my list and I was…well, I was almost hit by a car on my way there."

The former nanny immediately leapt from her seat, her husband rising slower but nonetheless astounded.

Fran prevented Niles from moving any further by putting her hands on his arms, ready to grab and hold fast if he bolted, "Oh my God! A _car?!_ "

The butler nodded, "Yes, that…is what I said."

"But…well, are you alright?! Did it get you at all?" Maxwell joined in, apparently looking at him all over to spot any signs of injury.

At that point, Niles expected Miss Babcock to make some kind of remark about how he had been saved and that it was all thanks to her. Even if she couldn't tell them, she could make it known to him how grateful he should be. But she didn't – she just kept watching, now looking vaguely concerned.

Was…was she worried that maybe the car had maybe clipped him, and he just wasn't saying anything?

No, it couldn't be that. She just had to be curious as to how the Sheffields were reacting.

And Fran truly _was_ having a reaction, directing him straight into the nearest seat.

"I'm gonna check. Sit down right there and stay still – if I find _anythin'_ wrong whatsoever, we are goin' straight ta the nearest hospital."

Niles tried to protest, "Mrs Sheffield, please; I-"

"No buts, Niles!" was Fran's immediate response, pointing a warning finger at him with an angry look on her face. She didn't speak again until she'd already started her examination, and that time her voice was much quieter. "…No one in this house is allowed ta take chances anymore."

So that was it. She'd heard he'd nearly had an accident involving a car, and even if he insisted that he was fine, it wasn't enough. Fran clearly wasn't willing to let it pass, even if the risk was minimum.

Not after what happened to Miss Babcock, who was now watching with a deep frown and a look in her eyes like she might start to cry. When she saw him watching, she looked away, towards the counter surface.

It took a while for Fran to finish making sure he was alright, and once she'd roped Maxwell in to ask him some questions to make sure he hadn't (somehow) hit his head, it took even longer. Niles had again tried to insist that he was alright and didn't need any (stupid) questions, but the Sheffields had insisted even harder back at him.

He'd managed to catch Miss Babcock's eye at the beginning of that part, and she'd started to cheer up when they'd told him their plan and found that he was less than thrilled by the idea. It became a distraction, trying hard not to give the wrong answers that she kept shouting out whenever Maxwell asked him a question.

He nearly let himself down by laughing at "What can be found in the Paramount Building at 222 West 51st Street?" because Miss Babcock shouted out "Andrew Lloyd Webber's left ass cheek", but Fran distracted Maxwell from it right away by claiming that that question was too complicated. The British producer argued back that it wasn't, and the married couple then got into a 'discussion' about what was appropriate to ask people who might've had a head injury and what wasn't.

The ridiculousness of it all gave Niles a few spare minutes to make mocking reaction faces at Miss Babcock, who could laugh as loud as she wanted, and return them in kind, as well as open insults, to see him try to keep a straight face.

Before he even knew it, all of the tension from the course of the day had melted away. He hadn't been angry at all after Miss Babcock had saved him; it had become a different kind of tension once she had. But the longer they spent quietly having fun at their friends' expense, the more he forgot about it.

And by the end, he was actually starting to feel rather relaxed. Even in the short time she'd been…well, not elsewhere, but out of sight and hearing, he'd missed these opportunities.

The rare opportunities, when they could team up and use their wits against other people, together.

But perhaps those moments didn't _have_ to be so rare anymore, to a certain extent…

Of course, the fun did have to come to an end for the time being, when Maxwell finally conceded defeat and left for the office so Fran could get back to her inspection for bumps, bruises, and broken bones. But, just as Niles had expected, she didn't find a single thing wrong with him.

"Nope…not a single scratch," the brunette patted his shoulder comfortingly, before letting out a quietly relieved sigh and heading off to apparently make another cup of tea. "Someone's watchin' out fer you, mister."

Her words automatically made him look at Miss Babcock, and he couldn't help but smiling at least a little.

"I think you may be right."

He knew Fran was right, and the returned smile that only he could see mirrored his own.


	8. The Plan

**Hey, guys! At long last, I've managed to finish this chapter – I'm so sorry it's taken me so long after my graduation, but my time has been spent looking for jobs and, to a large extent, feeling sorry for myself for not managing to. But I most certainly haven't abandoned this story and I'm getting back on my feet – I've joined a course in order to become a journalist which starts next March (it'll involve me moving again, but nowhere near as far as California), and in the meantime I can relax, keep on writing for you lovely people, and be learning shorthand all at once.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and special thanks has to go out to my bestie,** **CCNilesBabcock, who is posting this chapter for me because my connection isn't working. Love you!**

 **Update: There was a problem with the site yesterday, but I'm now back in and I can finally add the Italics that got deleted when it all went wrong!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Nanny, any of its characters, settings, etc.**

* * *

The sound of the metal door slamming securely shut certainly felt satisfying. After a few seconds of checking that everything looked alright through the glass, Niles turned away from it, throwing the oven mitts down on the counter and dusting off his hands. The rest of the kitchen was a mess of flour and other baking utensils, but he'd have that cleared up in no time at all.

Especially with a certain ghost there to keep him company now. Now that they'd found more of a rhythm it truly was soothing, having her there next to him, tossing zingers and jibes whenever the mood struck. Days didn't feel quite so long, and colours looked a little bit brighter than they had done before – back when he'd still imagined that he was never going to see her again.

It wasn't like she was physically there, but it was _definitely_ the next best thing. It was almost like having a full home entertainment centre again, albeit one that had to be put on mute when someone else came into the room.

He looked up brightly at her, "Right, the cake is officially in the oven. What's next on the list?"

From her position floating, cross-legged, just above the counter, Miss Babcock tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and cast her eyes down the little scrap of paper he'd left there.

"Cake's the last thing written down," she said with a light shrug. She must have thought of something after that because she smirked as she looked up at him. "Hey, you know, when you've mopped up after yourself and taken that thing out, you'll have done something no one ever thought possible?"

Niles blinked, cocking his head a little to one side, "I've made cakes before."

"Yeah, but you've never done _all_ your work in one _day,_ " Miss Babcock folded her arms, pulling a feigned and very mocking impressed face. "A list like this has to be at _least_ a week's worth of work when interspersed with all your telenovelas!"

The butler rounded the counter to come and stand next to her, grabbing a cloth to start wiping off the surfaces, "You know that I make up a list like this every day."

"And then you drop it all for an _En carne propia_ rerun!" the former producer declared, giving him a pointed look.

Niles rolled his eyes, trying to keep his eyes on his work but not succeeding, "As if you're not there watching right alongside me!"

"Where else am I supposed to be, Hazel?" Miss Babcock asked with something of a laugh, gesturing around. "It's not like a meteor's gonna come crashing in through the roof of the house or anything – the only way you're gonna need saving when you plop that butler behind of yours in front of the TV is if you choke on your secretly-stashed and specially-prepared popcorn!"

Niles bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from openly smiling. The zinger might've been long, but he had to admit that it was a good one, and it made him think of how grateful he was that they at least got time for their usual routine. Not that it would probably be considered time to her in the same sense.

He would've tossed an insult back, too, if it weren't for Fran coming in through the door to the dining room and forcing their conversation to come to a halt.

"How's that cake comin' along, Niles?" the former nanny asked, almost definitely eager for a slice but trying to hide it.

As she came forward, she narrowly missed passing through Miss Babcock's outstretched leg. Niles shot the former producer a warning look (which luckily went unseen by Fran), and was rewarded with a feigned look of innocence and a shrug, before she withdrew her leg to sit cross-legged again.

The butler usually got annoyed when their conversations were interrupted, but it wasn't as though they could continue. And, on occasion, the forced silence could be useful.

In this particular case, he used the opportunity to properly finish his cleaning as he answered Fran's question, "It's only been in the oven for a few minutes – it'll still be a while yet."

That disappointed the brunette, but she dismissed it with a flippant wave of her hand, "Ah, well, thought I'd take a chance."

Niles smiled a little bit to himself – it was just typical of his friend to be impatient for her afternoon nosh, and while it was unfortunate for her that it wasn't ready yet, he could suggest something to tide her over until then.

"Would you care for some tea instead, while you wait?" he offered, tossing the cloth he'd been cleaning with into the sink.

That cheered Fran up, just as he hoped it might.

"Ooh! Love some, thank you," she said, slipping herself into a chair.

The butler nodded to that and he turned around to grab the kettle, so he could fill it with water. As he did, he noticed out of the corner of one eye that Miss Babcock was watching the proceedings as though she were lying on her stomach, with her legs in the air behind her and her chin resting in her hands, her elbows propped up on nothing.

Out of the corner of his other eye, Fran was watching him thoughtfully from her seat.

"Ya know…I can't help but notice you've looked…well, a little better these last couple o' weeks."

Niles glanced up at her, "Better?"

"Yeah," she replied, only partially sounding sure of herself. She cocked her head from side to side, seemingly trying to decide how to phrase what she wanted to say. "You've looked…like yer feelin' a little happier."

"Who's feeling happier?" came a voice from the door to the dining room, which was swinging open just as Fran finished her sentence.

Maxwell. He'd no doubt be prepared to weigh in on the discussion that was apparently about to take place. Niles knew that he had been feeling a lot better recently, but he hadn't realised it'd been coming through to the family. He'd tried his best to keep most, if not all, of his uplifted moods for when he and Miss Babcock were alone – after all, to the outside world (well, to those who knew him best), he didn't have much of a reason to be happy at all.

Though the more they kept going, he might not be feeling so happy when the Sheffields left. If they went _too_ far with it, they might let something slip and then Miss Babcock would never let him live it down.

The woman in question was also suddenly looking more seriously interested – she'd sat back up in her cross-legged position with her eyes turned in the direction of the conversation.

Not that Fran was aware of any of this as she answered her husband, "Niles is, honey."

"Oh, yes…I seem to remember we were talking about it earlier," the British producer went to the counter, completely unaware that his former business associate wasn't even two feet away. "It's…nice, seeing you looking a little bit more like yourself, Old Man."

Niles tried to dismiss it, settling the kettle down on the stove, "I don't think I've particularly changed, recently…"

"Oh, don't be so _modest,_ Niles…!" Fran told him, getting up from her chair to approach her friend. She did it delicately, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly. "I know it's been a over a month, but Miss Babcock not bein' here anymore…it's still a huge thing ta deal with, fer all of us. And it's never gonna settle down fully, even if we _have_ all gotta try and get on with our lives."

There was a silence thick with everyone's unspoken feelings about that statement, and Niles could see Fran's eyes glistening, as if she were on the verge of starting to cry. Even Maxwell looked like he might – he was pursing his lips so hard, they'd almost disappeared.

Niles then quickly checked over towards where Miss Babcock was still sat. The interested look on her face had dropped, and she appeared to be pensively biting the inside of her cheek. It was obvious that she'd never thought the Sheffields could miss her quite so much. She'd probably thought that they might mourn for a week or two at the most and then everything would start to return to normal – she'd even asked him once if Maxwell was considering hiring somebody else to help run the business, but seeing as they never saw the other producer without the other these days, he hadn't been able to give her an answer.

He thought he probably knew the answer, though, even if he couldn't say for sure. If he ever felt rather bold during a quiet moment, he thought he might tell her that he at least doubted the company would ever stop being Sheffield-Babcock Productions.

The kettle coming to a boil eventually broke the silence, and Fran rubbed Niles' arm once more, "But ya look like you've got yer smile back, and I fer one am _very_ glad ta see it."

She then let him go so that he could fetch mugs and start to pour out the tea. But she didn't go to sit down – both she and Maxwell continued to hover, like there was something they wanted to discuss with him.

"As am I," the British producer agreed with his wife, and his next words confirmed what the butler had been thinking. "But you know something, Niles? It occurs to me that you…well, might want to take some time off soon, as well."

"Hm, it's not often you get an offer like _that,_ Butler Boy," Miss Babcock commented amusedly. "You might wanna take it, before you wake up and realise it was all a dream…!"

Niles nearly forgot himself and went to direct an unimpressed look straight at her for that, but at the last moment he managed to contain himself. They could get back into their sparring match as soon as the Sheffields left, but for the time being he had to appear present in the conversation.

And that was going to start with finding out why he was being given the _choice_ of time off, rather than practically having to beg for it.

He lowered the kettle away from the mugs, quirking an eyebrow at his employer, "Time off, sir?"

That was when Maxwell began to shift awkwardly, "Well, yes, you know – to take a bit more time for yourself, to relax…to go out and _meet_ people, now that you're starting to…feel a little better…"

It immediately clicked in Niles' head what he was trying to say, without actually saying it. He also resented the phrase "feel a little better", but he kept _that_ to himself because he knew that Maxwell probably didn't mean it in any kind of bad or malicious sense.

"I see," he instead returned to pouring the water into the mugs, letting the tea steep while he went to get the milk. "You think I need the company."

"Not… _company,_ necessarily," Maxwell replied carefully, following him across the kitchen. "Just…well, perhaps a little; you _have_ been spending an awful lot of time by yourself recently…"

Niles' first thought after that was to look over towards Miss Babcock. To most, she wouldn't be giving away anything with the facial expression he saw, but to him she looked as though she were deep in thought again, and she liked this particular thought even less than the one about someone being hired to take her place.

It was probably upsetting to her, knowing that she couldn't make herself known to them, or be considered any kind of company to anyone apart from him.

He moved away from the almost instant and definitely insane idea of telling the Sheffields that he hadn't been spending any time at all by himself (they'd ask _far_ too many questions that he wouldn't be able to answer without coming off as strange, in the least) by pulling open the fridge door and grabbing the milk, before wordlessly going back to finish making the tea. He knew couldn't make it blatant as to why he was rejecting the idea, but he could appear preoccupied by it all for a few moments. After that, he'd let them know that even if the thought about his loneliness was appreciated, it was unnecessary.

He didn't need new company when he didn't feel quite so alone anymore. And even if the circumstances were far from ideal, he knew that in this sense, he was far luckier than most people ever got to be. He'd rather be spending his time with Miss Babcock and thanking whatever deity had granted him a small reprieve from his misery than looking to meet new people.

Not that anybody else in the room knew this. And his silence on the matter seemed more than enough to make Maxwell feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, Niles," the producer went back to where Fran was stood and put his arm around her, looking remorsefully at the butler. "We just…neither of us like seeing you alone, and we thought that-"

Right away, Niles held up a hand to halt Maxwell's words in their tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he saw Miss Babcock return to biting her cheek, but he couldn't look at her directly for too long without arousing suspicion, so it was very possible that he could have been mistaken.

His eyes were best left focused on the Sheffields.

"I appreciate the sentiment from you both, but it really isn't necessary," he told them. He then turned to the counter, grabbed the two prepared mugs of tea and handed them to his friends. "I'll bring the cake in when it's ready."

Perhaps at last getting the message and sensing that he didn't want to talk about it any further, Maxwell gave him an apologetic look, a few mumbled words that might've been another apology, and a nod before turning to leave back the way he came. Fran took a few moments longer, insisting on taking her friend's hand and squeezing it comfortingly, before she followed her husband out.

Niles waited until he was sure they'd be well out of the dining room and almost into the living room before finally breaking the silence between him and Miss Babcock.

"Well, at least _that's_ over and done with for now," shaking himself out of it and eager to get back to where they had been, he looked up to where she was still sat. "Where were we?"

The former producer didn't reply. She was too busy staring down at the countertop, her thoughtful look now also openly upset.

Blinking, Niles called out to her louder, "Miss Babcock?"

"Hm?" the former producer started out of her thoughts, looking up at him and letting the sadness disappear off her features.

The thought of not being fully there to everybody had to have been hurting her deeply, Niles thought. It felt like a wound in his chest as well, although that wasn't something he was about to discuss with her. She very obviously didn't want to talk about it – just like she'd never wanted to talk about how she felt very much when…things had been different.

That suited him just fine, though. He'd much rather be back in familiar territory, anyway, where he knew he wouldn't have to endure the humiliation of her knowing how he felt and her holding that knowledge over him for the rest of his life.

"You were saying, before?" he prompted instead, hoping it would spark off another insult from her.

"Oh! It's, uh…" she thought about it, pausing to try and remember before she frowned. "Gone out of my head."

Luckily, that gave Niles the perfect opportunity to start up a new set. He wasn't going to let the matter drop, that was for sure!

Smirking, he gave a mockingly understanding nod as he leaned against the counter, "I see. All those millennia finally catching up, are they?"

Miss Babcock folded her arms, looking unimpressed back at him, "No, but your _senility_ might be catching and rubbing off on me."

That was far more like it, Niles thought. When the Sheffields had come in and started speaking, she'd lost the look of mischief in her eyes that he liked to see dancing there. It had returned, now that they were back _en forme._

Even if it was accompanied by a glimmer of unspoken sadness – probably the result of the lingering thought that she'd be non-existent to everyone but him for the rest of his time on Earth, however long _that_ was.

It was that same glimmer that made him long to be able to hold her hand.

He often thought about wanting to hold her hand. To hold her _entirely,_ really, if he was honest. Ever since she'd saved him, the idea of it happening again – of her being able to touch him again – had left him feeling tight in his chest with the want it created.

He knew that the only way he could get his wish was to do something to put himself in danger – something that made Miss Babcock react, and forced her to save him.

But that was something he had to try and mentally shake free from his mind. It was a fool's plan, wasn't it? He'd had to nearly be hit by a _car,_ the last time she'd saved him! Replicating anything like that went far beyond anything any reasonable human being should be willing to do to themselves, no matter how desperate!

No. He had to face the facts and be sensible about them – he couldn't just do something which could lead to potential serious injury if it went wrong, all for the hope of getting Miss Babcock to save him again!

Unless…unless he did something which _looked_ dangerous, but wasn't? Did Miss Babcock just have to _think_ he was in danger, before she'd swoop in to protect him? That was something he felt more able to manage – after years of setting up physical pranks, he'd practically mastered how to arrange slips, falls, and knocks and blows to the head!

Yes…that was what he'd do. He'd set some things up, get Miss Babcock to save him, and be able to touch her again every now and then! Nothing _too_ drastic of course, otherwise she'd be onto him about it, but enough so that he didn't feel the yearning quite so much.

After all, having her around was far better than nothing, but getting to _touch_ her again was going to be even better than that.


End file.
